Her Three Last Horcruxes

We have a guest blogger today.    TBB’s kids are both finished college now, and they are back home this week.   They are, though, being separate from TBB, who planned a week of family fun that hasn’t worked out.

That left  TBB to ruminate:

In the “Harry Potter” book series, the evil Voldemort divides his soul into numerous pieces and places them in objects, called Horcruxes, so that he may live forever.  We, as human beings do something similar.  As we make relationships throughout our lives, we give a little piece of our soul to the people we love.  They in turn, give us a piece of their soul, also in the form of love.  If we are good people and have invested wisely, we will have an abundance of love whenever we need it.  In a normal person’s life, they are surrounded by it.  If someone dies or moves on, there is still enough love to sustain them.  Not so for the transgendered.  We make our horcrux investments the same as everyone else, but then the tornado called transition comes along and destroys almost all them.  After transition, many of the friends and family you gave a piece of your soul to are lost, destroying the love you invested with them.  You end up with only a few Horcruxes left.  You guard them carefully and cherish them with whatever love you have.  I have three left.  My mother and two children,  and there is very little chance that I may fall in love and be able to create a forth horcrux.  These horcruxes become our Achilles heel.  They are very sensitive and easy to damage.

My children know this.  They learned it in their teenage years.  When they ignore me or chose to give me the silent treatment, I writhe with pain.  It is like a knife that has dug deep into my soul. They do not realize that I am unable to bear this level pain, as say another parent could. They do not understand that they are my lifeblood, that I have no one else to turn to for love.  My life stops for a moment and I go into a very deep depression.  I then get angry because I have been attacked in a way no person deserves to be attached.  To have love withheld from them.  If I try to hold back my love from them they just laugh. It is easy for them.  They are young and have many horcruxes to sustain them.  I have three horcruxes left, and when my two children join together and remove that love from me, I’m only sustained by only one.  My eighty year old mother.

 She watches as my children torture me and writhes in pain along with me.  Her other son has been lost to her for 25 years now.  He is still alive, but has also held back the love she so needs and deserves.  When my children scoff at me and purposefully ignore me, she understands and wants to lash out for me, but she is old and only has two horcruxes left herself.  Her life partner and I.

 What will happen when my mother passes on and I have no horcruxes left.  Voldemort became dust and blew away with the wind. Empty of love and without a soul.  Is that why there is so much suicide among us?  Is that my fate?

How do we get the love we need from the love we gave?   It’s hard for anyone, but for those stigmatized as queer, we often find the ones we love have trouble making the ones they love see us as human and tender.

Personally, I believe that empty nest syndrome is hard for TBB, but that she has so much to give that she will find new rewards and connections, new people to share love with.

But I know from her passionate writing above, that’s not the way that she feels today.

Keep working the process, Sabrina.  The conventional has never rewarded you, but the unconventional has always brought you bliss.   Amen that it will again.

Head Up, Shoulders Back, Tits High

People read other people without thinking.    We don’t stop to assess and consider the body language of another person, we just read it right out.

One of the first things we read is confidence, assurance, poise.  And we don’t just read it in others; we read it in ourselves.   Girls went to finishing school to learn deportment, not just so they would have the skills to fit into society, but so they would have the confidence to mix in society, to hold themselves with a strong sense of self worth, to trust in their own value.

Which comes first, the pride to carry yourself with grace, or the experience of having others respond to your carriage in a positive way?  It’s a performance and feedback loop that is self reinforcing; the affirmation you get when you present yourself with strength gives you the confidence to assert your own power in the world.

I have been coming from the beat down for a long time now.  And, in many ways, I want people to know what kind of beating I have taken.  It’s real, palpable, true.

But being beat down doesn’t let me show off what I can offer, doesn’t let me walk with pride and strength in the world.   It doesn’t get me what I need.

Head Up, Shoulders Back, Tits High.   I tried it yesterday, and I felt different.  The cashier even wanted to question if I deserved the senior discount when I did it.

Do I choose to come from strength, confidence and pride, or to show the effects of how life has beaten me down?

Head Up, Shoulders Back, Tits High.  It’s gotta be the choice.